by John Lenahan
‘I have tried speaking to the king and it hasn’t worked,’ Jesse said. ‘Now I am appealing to my father. Listen to Conor, Father, he makes sense.’
‘You dare defy me in the room of the Alder Throne.’
‘The room of the Alder Throne is back in the Alderlands, Father – where we should be. We don’t belong here. Can you actually say you like it here?’
Bwika was turning red with rage. ‘This land should be ours.’
‘But do you like it here? Would you really rather live here than in the Alderlands?’
‘The gold his father sits on belongs to us. They disrespect the Brownies – they have even stopped our stipend.’
‘Now hold on,’ I said, ‘Duir only stopped your stipend of gold after you declared war on us.’
I shouldn’t have spoken. Jesse had been getting through to him but then idiot Duir boy had to open his big mouth. Bwika exploded like a thermometer in a heat wave. I didn’t even understand him for about a minute. There were some Brownie swear words in there, and my ancestors were mentioned, but he was so manic that a translation would have been impossible. Let’s just say he was very, very angry. When Jesse tried to calm him down, Bwika barked something at his guards that made all of us look at each other to see if anyone understood it.
Bwika repeated himself. ‘GAG HIM.’
The guard started to walk towards me.
‘Not him – Codna.’
Jesse looked shocked and then hurt as the guard tied a handkerchief across his mouth. When Jesse tried to remove it the guard tied his hands behind his back as well. I looked to my Brownie friend. Despite what a brave soldier he had become, the wounded son had a tear sliding down his cheek.
‘Now,’ Bwika said, pointing to me, ‘kill him.’
The honour guard, still shaken by the unrest in the room, hesitated, but not for as long as I would have liked. He hoiked up his sword and came at me. From his posture I had the awful feeling that he was going to attempt to split my head straight down the middle – not the way I had imagined I would go. My idea of a good death was in bed from old age. I took in a long breath, revelling in the enjoyment of just that simple act. Life slowed down for me as it always does when I’m in mortal peril. I was glad of it this time ’cause I couldn’t think of any way out of this mess. I had time to compose my final words. I toyed with some sort of death curse or something noble like, ‘I only regret that I have but one life to give for Duir.’ That would play well but then I figured Dad would probably rumble me and everyone would think I was a jerk for plagiarising my final words. I decided on cheeky, my default for covering when I was actually scared out of my wits.
‘Don’t I even get a chance to duel one of you guys to the death?’ I said, squeezing my eyes shut. And then … nothing.
When I opened my eyes to see what was taking so long, everybody was looking at me. I glanced to the gagged Jesse and saw him nodding at me with wide eyes. I got the message – Yes – but yes what? I had been in so much terror that I hadn’t even remembered what I said. My executioner looked at me waiting and then looked to Bwika.
‘Kill him,’ Bwika said.
‘Wait, wait,’ I said retracing my mental steps, ‘I challenge you to a duel to the death.’ Then as an unsure question I added, ‘As is my right?’ I looked to Jesse, who again nodded yes.
Bwika forced his bulk off his throne and then walked down the dais until he was inches away from my face. He was still awfully red. ‘Who do you challenge?’ he asked.
‘Ah … you … Your Highness.’
Bwika straightened and then laughed. He walked past me and shouted, ‘Bring him.’
News had obviously swept through the camp that I was here. Bwika ordered light, and a ring of torch-bearing Brownies stood in a semicircle making and lighting the fighting area. In the middle of the makeshift arena stood a hulking Brownie. Seriously, this guy was like an extra for a barbarian vs. caveman movie. I didn’t know they actually made Brownies that big. He, of course, was topless except for strange leather shoulder pads and wore a short leather skirt. It was the kind of outfit that people couldn’t help but make fun of but with this guy, if they did, they only did it once. He held a shiny, sharp blade. Stuck in the ground in front of him was a dull old sword. I pulled it out and ran my finger down it. You could shave a balloon with the edge on this thing without popping it.
‘Sporting,’ I said. ‘Can I have my own sword?’
‘The Sword of Duir,’ Bwika said, ‘is back with its rightful owner. Me.’
I started to say, ‘What do you mean back, it was never yours.’ But instead I said, ‘It looks good on you. Why don’t you use it then? I thought I was fighting you, not Steroid Boy here.’
I don’t think Steroid Boy knew what steroids were but I could tell he didn’t like the nickname.
‘A king may choose his champion.’
‘I’m a prince, you know, can I call home and get one too? Why don’t you fight me, Your Highness? Tell you what, I’ll fight you with my banta against your sword.’
Bwika smiled but it was forced.
‘No, I imagine you’re too slow even for a fight like that.’
Steroid Boy wasn’t waiting for ‘1, 2, 3 start’. He raised his sword and came at me with the kind of ferocity that you usually get when someone insults one’s king or mother. I parried the swing above my head and let his blade slide past my shoulder. His right side was wide open and I caught him on the arm with a counter-attack. My sword didn’t even break his skin.
‘Thanks so much for this sword. I might as well be fighting with a tent pole.’
Steroid Boy was fast and strong but luckily he had no finesse. Don’t get me wrong, fast and strong were enough to get me very dead but if this guy had had any training, I would have been watching this scene from above while grooming my wings. I ducked and rolled and succeeded on coming up on the other side so I could look Bwika in the eyes.
‘It’s the weight, isn’t it? You’ve gotten too fat even to fight against a guy with only a stick.’
I did another duck and dive. This time Steroid Boy’s blade came so close to my nose I wasn’t sure if I had been nicked or not. I really had to start paying attention to the fight, but I thought maybe I was getting through to the monarch.
‘You know, maybe if you cut the cakes out of your diet you could lose a stone or two and you could get back to fighting weight.’
I parried a forearm swipe and tried to lock swords with my attacker – big mistake. He threw me off and onto my back like I was a schoolgirl – and I’ve known a few tough schoolgirls. I was winded and the big guy wasn’t waiting for me to get up. I was just deciding which way to roll when Bwika shouted, ‘Stop!’
Steroid Boy halted like he was on a leash. I slowly got to my feet, panting.
‘Give him his stick,’ the king ordered.
I threw away my useless sword.
Bwika stepped up and drew the Sword of Duir. ‘I shall enjoy killing you with your own blade.’
‘The Lawnmower would never hurt me.’
‘The what?’
‘The Lawnmower, that’s the name of the sword you stole from me.’
‘What is a lawnmower?’
‘It’s a machine in the Real World that keeps grass short.’
‘What is wrong with sheep?’ the king asked as my stick was thrown to me.
I caught my banta then immediately flipped it under my armpits and commanded it to lift me up and away from there. I didn’t want or need this fight. I was doing the noble thing – running away. OK maybe I have a different definition of noble but I knew that this was a no-win situation. If I lost I died and if I won then somebody here would kill me for killing their king. Running away may not be dignified but it was smart. Bwika took a menacing step towards me and I again commanded my stick to lift me out of there – nothing. I pulled the staff out from under my arms and had a look.
‘Hey, this isn’t my banta stick.’ Bwika took a couple of steps closer and I held th
e stick in front of me in a defensive position.
‘That seems to be a fine alder wood banta stick – what is your problem?’
‘My problem is that one of your henchmen is a thief.’
Bwika gave me a look that reminded me that calling a Brownie thief was not an insult. Then he ran at me swinging steel.
Like all big guys he surprised me with how fast he moved. He may have been old, stupid and overweight but you don’t get to be King of the Brownies without knowing how to handle yourself in a fight. I used the stick to deflect his sword, being careful to give a little, so he wouldn’t cut the wood. I remembered the stick vs. sword fight I had with Essa so long ago and wished I had paid more attention. He was backing me into a crowd of Brownies. I had a feeling that if I landed in with them it would hurt as much as the blade so I took a wide swipe at Bwika’s head and rolled over so my back was Brownie-free.
I back-pedalled as Bwika swung. I succeeded in getting a few body hits in with my stick but they hardly seemed to faze the big guy. I knew I didn’t have a chance up close with the Lawnmower. My only hope was that he would tire out as I kept losing ground. I blocked one forearm swipe too well and he took about half a foot off the top of my stick. It wasn’t that bad though, he had cut it at an angle and I now had a pointy end to my weapon.
Then he made what could have been a fatal mistake. He tried one of those Zorro-like forehand/backhanded swipes and when he finished his whole body was wide open. I instinctively jabbed the sharp end of my stick towards his throat but pulled back just before contact. I could have done it then. I could have killed him but as I said, regicide was not the idea here. The idea was to get out alive. I locked eyes with Bwika hoping he would acknowledge that I just gave him his life but there was no such recognition on his face. The only thing on his face was growing rage. I used that and waited for his next attack. It was wild, I dodged it and while the sword was out of position I jammed the sharp end of my stick into the king’s foot. Then I turned and ran.
The Brownies had grouped, not into a circle like with most fights but in a semi-circle. I made an assumption – one that my life depended on – that the reason they didn’t want to place their backs to that part of the night was because that part creeped them out. And the creepiest place in all The Land is the yew forest. Bwika chased after me but I don’t think he could have caught me even without the limp I had just given him. Other Brownies closed in. It was dark, I had no idea where the edge of the forest was, or even if it was the right kind of forest, but if trees didn’t start looming soon I was done for.
A quick Brownie came from my right and tried to tackle me. With a move that would have made an All-American fullback proud, I straight-armed him. He hit the ground and enjoyed a dirt sandwich just as I saw the skeletal outlines of yews form out of the darkness.
A Brownie came at me from the left. I pointed ahead and shouted, ‘Yews’, and it worked. He pulled up so fast he lost his footing and ate a bit of earth himself. All the other Brownie soldiers stopped too. I found out later that the Brownies have a children’s poem that teaches them about the dispositions of different trees. The first line goes, ‘When you meet a yew – that’s the end of you.’
All of the Brownie soldiers held back but I guess Bwika was no poetry fan. When I cleared the first tree I looked back and saw the beefy monarch loping at full speed, red-faced, sword outstretched and he was coming right for me.
‘Bwika, NO!’ I shouted but the king was not in his right mind. He got within two footfalls of the first yew and stopped like he was a bird hitting a window. I ran to the tree and placed my hands on the sinuous bark. ‘Stop, leave him, he didn’t mean to come here. He was chasing me. He didn’t come here to be judged.’
I ran to Bwika and tried to pull him away. He groaned from the pain of my pull fighting against the yew tree’s bone hold. When I tried a second time to move him the trees pushed me back by my sternum. It felt like I had been kicked in the chest.
To Bwika’s credit he knew what was happening and he knew the danger he was in but he didn’t whimper or beg – just the opposite. He tried to turn to me; when he found that impossible he shouted, ‘I don’t need help from you, Faerie.’
I ran around the tree so I could see the king’s face. Once more I touched the yew. ‘You said I have freedom of the Yewlands, King Bwika is with me.’
The tree broke his/her silence. ‘This Brownie is not your companion, he was attempting to kill you. Your minds are open to us, Faerie – do not attempt to lie.’
‘He’s not prepared for the Choosing, he didn’t mean to enter the Yewlands. He shouldn’t have to die because of an accident.’
‘Falling from a cliff is an accident,’ the tree said with its twin male and female voice, ‘yet often there is death.’
‘But you can stop this,’ I pleaded. Let him go.’
‘The Brownie has entered the Yewlands, he shall be judged.’
‘I told you, Faerie, I need no succour from you,’ Bwika grunted. ‘I’m not afraid of being judged by a damn tree.’
There was nothing I could do. I may have the freedom of the Yewlands but that sure doesn’t mean I have any sway over them. I thought, You’re on your own, Brownie king, but if I were you I wouldn’t start a trial by swearing at my judge.
‘When I want your advice I’ll ask for it,’ Bwika said. That’s when I realised we were linked in mind through the tree. I should have let go. A yew trial should be a private thing but, like seeing a car wreck, I just couldn’t look away.
Bwika’s life flashed before my eyes. His was not a privileged royal upbringing. Unlike most princes he came from humble stock and rose through the Brownie military. Through sheer hard work, physical strength and cunning Bwika gained the highest of military positions in the Alderlands – Chief of the Torkc Guards. It was there he saw his chance and he sowed seeds of discontent into the king’s son and finally influenced him into challenging his father to a duel. The prize – the throne. Bwika secretly coached both father and son and, as the fight’s referee, poisoned both combatants’ blades. When it was over the Brownielands had no king and no heir. Bwika ascended to the throne until a rune holder could be found. Two years later he came to Duir, took his Choosing and received the Alder Rune.
My anxiety lessened. If the Chamber of Runes found him worthy of a major rune then maybe so will the yews. But then I remembered something that Spideog had said to me, ‘Many a Runelord had been found wanting by the yews.’
Next was the birth of his sons: two in quick succession by two different women. He banished both mothers as soon as they dared to even suggest a course of parenting different to the father. Both children were raised by a succession of nannies who were fired with regularity. Demne, the one I called Frank, was so desperate for his father’s approval that he volunteered for a suicide mission to destroy the Tree of Knowledge. Bwika, in his hubris, let him do it and we all know how that ended. Jesse’s upbringing was even more painful to watch. Every time I saw him through his father’s eyes he was a cowering slip of a thing. Bwika only recently had come to show any interest in him, now that he had come into his own.
When the tree started to ask Bwika about this war and why he supported Cialtie and Maeve – the Yew Killer – I couldn’t take it any more. I let go of the tree and dropped to my knees with the kind of emotional exhaustion that can make even opening your eyes seem like a chore.
When I did look up I saw Jesse. He alone had ventured close to the yew forest. He was watching his father looking up, kneeling, straining at the base of the yew.
‘Don’t come any closer, Jesse,’ I warned.
‘What are they doing to him?’ he asked. There were tears in his eyes.
‘He’s being judged.’
‘Will they kill him?’
I wanted to give him hope. He looked like he needed hope but I had been listening in and I knew Bwika’s chances were not good. ‘Maybe.’
A groaning defiant scream made me turn. Bwika was on his feet;
his hands were shaking, reaching for the now low hanging yew berries. It was over. He had been judged and found unworthy. The tree was forcing him to eat its poisonous fruit.
Jesse screamed, ‘No’, and ran to his father. I screamed the same thing and ran to intercept him but was way too late. Jesse’s hand touched his father’s shoulder and then he too froze solid. Bwika stuffed a handful of berries into his face; the juice of them flowed down his chin like blood. He had one last effort of will in him and he used it to look at his son and smile, then he collapsed face first into the tree’s trunk.
I ran to Jesse; he was immobile with his hand outstretched. Moments before, that hand had rested on the shoulder of his father. His eyes were swimming in the tears of a child. I came up behind him and reached around his waist trying to drag him back into the camp. I couldn’t budge him an inch. I gave up and buried my face into his back.
‘Jesse, do you know what you have done? You’re going to be judged.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Prince Codna
The tree pulled Jesse’s hands to its trunk. I ran around and touched the tree myself.
‘He really is a friend of mine. I demand he be given the freedom of the Yewlands. I came to see him. He must not be judged.’
The yew didn’t answer, he/she ignored me.
‘HE IS MY FRIEND!’
A movie of Jesse’s life entered my mind as I fell to my knees pleading for the tree to stop. His earliest memories were of nannies who, while outwardly raising him with iron discipline, secretly tried to give him some of the nurturing that every child needs. He was never as fast or as strong as his brother and his father set the tone for the way everyone looked at him. All considered him a weedy child, a sissy. Only his brother gave him the kind of love and defence that he needed. I saw that without his brother, Jesse may not have made it in that tough Brownie world. It made me sad that Frank was dead. Jesse finally, just in the last year, had started coming into himself. His confidence and stature both grew. Now his father began to take pride in him, but Jesse’s newfound prowess was despite his father’s influence not because of it.
